


Matched Set

by Jain



Category: Star Trek XI
Genre: Boys in Skirts, Character of Color, Established Relationship, F/M, POV Third Person, Past Tense, Previously Remixed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-27
Updated: 2009-05-27
Packaged: 2017-10-03 09:33:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jain/pseuds/Jain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All of the members of Starfleet--morphology permitting--were issued five tunics, three pairs of trousers, and five dresses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Matched Set

Jim thought it said something for his sense of restraint that he waited until he and Uhura had known each other for close to five years--at least one and a half of which she'd spent _not_ hating him--to suggest that it would be really hot if she went commando one day while on shift.

She, apparently fixating not on those more impressive numbers but on the fact that they'd only been dating two months, disagreed, and suggested in turn that he get the thought out of his head if he didn't want her to reexamine the whole 'actually thinking it might be a good idea to go out with him' thing.

"Are you _serious?_" Jim demanded. "Just because I think it would be hot if you didn't wear underwear for one day?"

Uhura's eyes flashed dangerously. "Have _you_ seen how short my skirt is?" Jim tried desperately to keep his expression from reflecting how very aware of that fact he was, but Uhura snorted, so he must not have done a good job of it. "You probably have the length memorized."

"From waist to hem, or the height from hem to knee?" Jim asked, since he was busted anyway.

Uhura gave him the look that said he wasn't funny, not one tiny bit, even as the corners of her lips twitched a little. Her voice was perfectly serious, though, when she continued, "And you don't think it's a problem when you ask me not to wear anything under that while I'm on duty, even though all it would take is one slip to demonstrate my lack of professionalism to the entire bridge and undermine my position as a member of this crew?"

"So wear trousers that day," Jim said. "I don't care about your uniform; I just care that you don't have anything on _underneath_ it."

Uhura blinked. "I don't understand this kink at all," she said, but the fine edge of anger was gone from her voice.

"But you'll do it?" Jim pressed.

"In exchange for something else."

Jim grinned. "What do you want?"

"You in a skirt, on duty," Uhura said crisply.

Jim raised his eyebrows in surprise. "You go for that?" he asked.

"You've got nice thighs," Uhura said, shrugging.

"Fair enough. I'm still allowed to wear underwear, though, right?" Jim asked.

Uhura made a face at him. "Yes, _please_."

"Just checking."

* * *

The next day, Jim dug in the back of his bureau for a dress. All of the members of Starfleet--morphology permitting--were issued five tunics, three pairs of trousers, and five dresses. However, social mores prompted most Terran men, along with men and/or women from various other planets, to stick to trousers. Jim had never so much as tried one of his dresses on.

He wondered if he ought to shave his legs. There was only a handful of human men on board who wore skirts, and it wasn't as though Jim was staring at their legs whenever he saw them about the ship. Or, well--

Nurse Pierce shaved, and Jim thought Lieutenant Patil in Engineering might, too. On the other hand, he was pretty sure Ensign Thomas didn't. Nor Scotty, for that matter, who wore a uniform dress sometimes when he was feeling nostalgic, since it felt vaguely like a kilt. ("Not that they're anything the same, mind," he'd told Jim on more than one occasion. "Kilts are kilts, and skirts are skirts, and you'd have to be blind to miss the difference. But they do both swish nicely around the thighs.")

In the end, he decided against it. If Uhura had wanted him to depilate, she would have said so. Considering how detail-oriented she was, the fact that she hadn't meant that she didn't care.

There was a Starfleet-issue pair of short pants to be worn under the skirt: black, substantial underwear made of thick cotton. Jim put those on first, then pulled the dress over his head and smoothed the wrinkles out of it with his hands. The hem hit him mid-thigh, which was sexy without being embarrassingly short. The dress was also surprisingly comfortable. If it weren't for the lack of pockets, he might've been tempted to wear it for more than just one day.

* * *

"You're staring," Jim noted as he slid his breakfast tray onto the table across from Bones.

Bones blinked, then focused on his face. It looked like it took some effort. "You've got nice legs," he said. "I'm surprised."

Jim rolled his eyes and sat down. "You've seen my legs, multiple times."

"Yeah, well, usually I get the opportunity when you're bleeding all over one of the beds in sickbay, so I'm generally a little too busy trying to keep you from _dying_ on me to notice."

Jim shrugged off the accusation--okay, so he was a frequent visitor to sickbay, but it wasn't for life-threatening reasons all _that_ often--and said, "Thanks."

"Don't mention it," Bones said sourly.

Unexpectedly, that ended up being the only instance of someone commenting on the change from Jim's regular style. Jim caught more than a few interested glances--some curious; the majority appreciative--but that was it. He sat in the captain's chair in his usual relaxed position, feeling even more grateful for the uniform's short pants. And then Uhura stepped out of the turbolift wearing trousers rather than a skirt and nodded to him meaningfully, and Jim concentrated on not having a physical reaction that would be even more embarrassingly obvious in his current uniform than it would be most days.

The knowledge that she was sitting right behind him, though, looking outwardly proper and collected, while Jim was the only person on the bridge who knew... He shook his head slightly in an attempt to regain focus and wished for a nice distraction. A Klingon warbird or two would do the trick.

* * *

The Klingons didn't oblige. Nor did the Romulans, or the Tholians, or anyone else, for that matter. The Enterprise stumbled across one M-class planet with humanoid lifeforms that Spock identified as comparable in their evolutionary development to Australopithecines. (Well, first he identified them as comparable to a near-unpronounceable genetic ancestor of modern Vulcans. The Australopithecine detail was provided as an afterthought when the entire bridge crew other than Uhura stared at him with blank incomprehension in response to his first comment regarding the planet's population.)

Jim dispatched Spock to the surface with a couple of security officers and a science team of his own choosing to do a preliminary study of the planet to supplement the information the Enterprise's scanners had already registered. Which left Jim on the bridge to catch up on reading the backlog of reports composed by the Enterprise senior staff and to try not to squirm too obviously when his thoughts drifted back to Uhura and what she was (or was not) wearing.

The minute Lieutenant Naser stepped onto the bridge to relieve him, Jim headed for the turbolift with only a cursory farewell to the rest of the bridge. Uhura preferred to have time after her shift to wind down, even when they had plans to see each other that evening, so he didn't bother waiting for her. In any case, a boring day like this one meant he probably wouldn't have to wait long before she came by his quarters.

At least, that was his _hope_. Back in his quarters, Jim toed off his shoes and flopped backwards onto his bed. There was a roughly even chance that he had enough time to jerk off before she arrived, but just lying there letting his mind go all the places it had wanted to go on shift wasn't half-bad. Before he'd definitively made up his mind, the door chimed, and he got up to let Uhura in.

She'd changed back into her uniform skirt since her shift ended. Jim squelched his small upswelling of disappointment. Yeah, it would have been awesome to get his hands on her before she'd changed, to feel her up through a single layer of fabric that would get wet fast under his fingers, to ease her zipper down to reveal damp, musky curls of hair rather than soft cotton... But that hadn't been part of their agreement, and just the idea of it and the memory of Uhura sitting on the bridge doing her job while dressed like that was hot enough. He leaned down to kiss her.

Uhura made a soft sound in the back of her throat, pressing closer, and Jim let his hands slide down her back and over her ass, fingers creeping under the hem of her skirt. Only to encounter warm, bare skin.

Jim's cock went from seriously interested to painfully hard, and he made a strangled noise. He could feel Uhura's mouth spread into a smile before she pulled away gently. "You feel like getting out of _your_ undies?" she asked. Jim fumbled with the hem of his dress for half a second, until she placed her hands over his to still them and clarified, " _Just_ your underwear."

"You want us to match?" Jim asked, his voice coming out more thickly than usual, even as he reached under his skirt to ease the short pants over his stiff cock. As soon as he'd stepped out of the pants, Uhura had a hand on each shoulder and gave him a friendly shove towards the bed.

"Just making things a little easier," she said. "Have a seat."

Jim sat on the edge of his bed and watched as she took off her shoes. Then he clutched double handfuls of blanket when Uhura stepped closer and slipped one hand under his skirt. Her slim, warm fingers grasped his cock and stroked upwards once, twice, thumb lingering over the already wet head with each stroke.

"Maybe we could cut the foreplay a bit short?" Jim suggested tightly when she let go of his cock and palmed his balls. "I've kind of been ready for the past nine hours."

Uhura laughed. "Which makes this different from every other day how exactly?" she asked, but pulled her hand away and stopped teasing him. "Scoot back a little."

Jim scooted. Uhura shoved his skirt up, leaving him pretty much naked below the waist. Then she placed one knee to either side of his hips and reached under her own skirt to guide him into her. She was so wet she was practically dripping, and Jim made a note to ask her later what exactly about this scenario had gotten her so turned on so that he could do it again. Many, many times. At the moment, though, about all he could manage to say was, "Fuck. Uhura."

"Nyota," she corrected breathlessly, rocking against him. "You can call me..."

"Nyota," Jim said--not the first time he'd called her that by a long shot, but the first time he'd had permission, the first time _she'd_ wanted it rather than just rolling her eyes at him whenever he took the liberty. His left hand was braced against the mattress; with the right he cupped her ass as she moved over him, stroked up along the line of her side to squeeze her breast. He wasn't going to be able to hold out much longer; no matter what Nyota said, nine hours was a long time to fantasize about getting someone naked. By this point, she was lucky he hadn't come from that little two-stroke handjob.

His left arm was trembling; Jim let himself fall backwards, the impact of hitting the bed a small distraction pulling him back from the edge for half a second until Uhura's muscles clenched tighter around him. Jim placed his hands on her hips, feeling the bounce and flex of her body as she rode him, and managed exactly four more thrusts before his balls drew up tight and he came with a shout.

Nyota stopped moving, her eyes on him as his chest heaved with each labored breath, until he'd come down enough to urge her off his softening cock and into a position where he could do her some good. Her skirt settled around him like a canopy as she knelt over his face, cutting off his vision and muffling the ambient noise, leaving him with nothing to ground him but the feel of her above him and the slick, salt taste of her on his tongue.

She shifted restlessly as he rolled his tongue over the nub of her clitoris. His chin was wet with a combination of her fluids and his semen, and he licked down to her pussy to taste their combined flavor. If he'd been able to get a finger or two on her clitoris, he might've lingered longer, but his arms' range of motion was restricted by the position of Nyota's body. The most he could manage to do with them was to get a hand around his still-sensitive cock, shuddering a little with a mix of pain and pleasure. There was no point in trying to jerk off, but he kept his hand there as he traced back up to Nyota's clitoris and curled his tongue to rub it with the tip.

Jim could feel her thighs start to tremble. He kept the rhythm of his tongue smooth and easy, brushing against her over and over, for long enough that jerking off went from a distant hope to a necessity. Just after the ache in his mouth had begun to get strong enough to distract him from the sharp stab of pleasure each time he squeezed his cock, Nyota cried out and quivered against him.

A heartbeat later, Jim let his tongue relax slightly. Nyota nudged her clitoris against it a few more times before she convulsed with the final aftershocks of her orgasm and pulled away.

Jim wiped a hand over his wet chin and drew her down into his arms. Their uniforms were damp with sweat, and some of Nyota's hair had fallen out of her ponytail. He pushed it out of her face and tucked it behind her ear; Nyota smiled vaguely in response, eyes closed.

After another minute, he said, "I'm just gonna..." and wrapped his right hand around his erection.

"Again?" she asked, sounding half-amused and half-fond, as though he'd never given her five orgasms in under an hour before. A moment later, though, her hand slid down to join his on his cock, so Jim wasn't really inclined to argue.

Their hands moved easily on his slick cock. Jim thrust his hips upwards minutely, chasing the sensation. Skin on skin made a wet, clacking sound in the quiet room, punctuated only by Jim's occasional sharp intakes of breath, until he groaned and came hot and wet on his belly.

"Can I take the dress off now?" he asked when he'd caught his breath.

"Go right ahead," Nyota said, already pulling her own dress over her head.

Jim stripped and used his dress to mop up the mess, then tossed it onto the floor. The air felt pleasantly cool on flushed, sweaty skin, but he helped Nyota pull the sheets over them anyway, not wanting to be awoken later by the cold.

"This...was a really good idea," Jim said.

He felt Nyota smile against his bare shoulder. "I'm glad you think so."

* * *

The following morning, Jim saw two different crewmen wearing skirts on the way from his quarters to the mess hall, another three in the mess hall, and one on the way to the bridge. Not to mention that Ensign Chekov was wearing a uniform dress, as well, baring a distracting stretch of slim, pale thigh.

Jim wandered over to Uhura's station on the pretext of looking at some intercepted messages she'd been translating during yesterday's lull and leaned in close to say quietly, "So, I'm thinking you might have had an ulterior motive in asking me to wear a skirt _on duty_ rather than just when we were alone in my quarters."

Uhura smiled up at him. "Just doing my bit for morale, Captain."

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Doing His Part For Morale (The Professionalism Remix)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/801946) by [Jedi Buttercup (jedibuttercup)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jedibuttercup/pseuds/Jedi%20Buttercup)




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